


A Cup Half Full

by masongirl



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Darkness, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Flirting, Kissing, M/M, Making Love, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poker, Porn with Feelings, Quiet Sex, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28811805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masongirl/pseuds/masongirl
Summary: The hardest part of being in love with Ron is keeping quiet about it.
Relationships: Carwood Lipton/Ronald Speirs
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58





	A Cup Half Full

Seated at the long table in Nix's billet, Carwood traces the rim of his teacup with his thumb. He marvels at its smoothness and the gentle curve it takes where it connects to the handle. It's a pretty cup, with only a small chip in it, an imperfection he can easily ignore. There's a butterfly painted on the porcelain. Its wings are grey-green like Ron's eyes.

"Lip? Another round?" Harry pokes at him drunkenly, breaking his reverie.

Oh. He was supposed to be playing cards. Officers' poker, sans Nix because he's somewhere in town, looking for oblivion. Carwood glances at Ron and finds him looking back, scorching, too intense. It's something dangerous that they shouldn't be doing in front of Harry and Dick, even if Dick is busy reading in the corner, but Ron doesn't seem to care. He wants Carwood tonight, and nothing could make him hide it. 

Rising from his seat, Carwood returns his gaze to his cup once again. Ron gave it to him about half an hour ago, brimming with steaming tea, and took its twin to the other side of the table where he kept taking little sips from it whenever Carwood gave him a warning look. Some of the rosy amber liquid still pools at the bottom of it. It's barely enough for a gulp, but Carwood drinks it anyway, just to give himself some time to regain his composure. The tea is overly sweet, and he indulges in a daydream for a moment. Would he taste the same drink in Ron's mouth too? Would Ron's lips feel sticky if Carwood pressed his own to them?

"Sorry, Harry, I'm calling it a night." He says and takes a deep breath.

"Me too." Ron joins him promptly and pockets his winnings despite Harry's slurred protests. As usual, Dick gives them a nod as a way to say good night. Doesn't he feel the tension in the air? 

Ron follows Carwood out the door and falls into step beside him, but doesn't say a word. If he's thinking of those few precious times when they had a chance to get lost in each other, he doesn't say. He leaves Carwood wondering whether the depth of their desperation is mutual. When they reach the bottom of the stairs, Carwood smiles at him, and he offers a small smile in return. His eyes glint in the silver moonlight as the two of them exit the building. 

"I heard an interesting rumour today." He says. In the quiet of the empty street, his voice sounds low and intimate.

Carwood hums. "I would take it with a grain of salt if it came from Luz or Christenson."

Ron chuckles and brushes against Carwood's side under the pretense of skirting around a puddle. "A little bird told me that you had won Easy's physical fitness competition in Toccoa."

The thrill of pride sweeps over Carwood's heart, but he doesn't want to give in to Ron's game this easily. He smiles at his boots, then looks up to return Ron's stare. "I think Tertius shouldn't give so much credit to rumours."

Ron's lips stretch into a toothy grin. His laugh lines are beautiful, fleeting shadows that draw warmth to Carwood's cheeks. "Tertius wants to see that famous stamina for himself."

Carwood's breath leaves him in a rush. "Christ, Ron." He speeds up his steps.

"I've been thinking about it all day."

Carwood doesn't reply. He can't think of anything to say. Does Ron mean that he wants Carwood to… take him? Or is he implying an act of intimacy Carwood isn't familiar with?

Ron strays closer, probably banking on the darkness to hide the fingers he runs over the back of Carwood's hand. "I've never seen you in your PT gear."

Carwood takes a furtive glance at his surroundings before hooking his index finger around Ron's for a few seconds. "Nothing much to see."

"I doubt that." Ron says just as they reach the house where Carwood will spend the night. He shifts on his feet like he wants to move forward but holds himself back. The darkness may provide some cover, but it doesn't make a man blind and deaf. He must know that they're already treading on dangerous waters as it is. Risking their lives for a kiss out in the open would be insane. 

Nevertheless, Ron allows himself a brief touch, his palm on Carwood's chest. "Can I come in?"

Carwood laughs quietly, bowing his head again. He doesn't know why, but Ron's interest makes him shy at times. It's so direct. Exclusive. "You'll have to leave in a few hours if we don't want to get caught."

Unsurprisingly, Ron's answer to that is a simple "I don't care."

The flame in Carwood's veins flares up. "All right."

It’s a struggle not to touch each other once they’re inside the building. The walls are only an illusion of privacy when there are at least two other officers sleeping just down the hall. The moment they reach Carwood's room feels like the last second before you bite into a chocolate bar, that fraction of time when you can already smell its scent and the memory of its taste and you're free falling. There’s no way to stop anymore.

Carwood barely has the composure to lock the door behind them, because as soon as it's closed, Ron is plastered to his back, mouthing at his neck and palming his waist. All the desire he managed to restrain so far breaks loose in him and pours on Carwood's body. Spun gold. His fingertips press into Carwood's sides and pull at his shirt, _now, now, now,_ even when laughter roars up in the adjacent room, perhaps a poker party that's going better than their own did. Carwood squirms and turns around in the circle of Ron's arms to kiss him. Finally, after all this time spent daydreaming about a teacup. 

He licks into Ron's mouth and sighs. "You're sweet."

"Am I?" Ron mumbles into Carwood's cheek, trailing his kisses to Carwood's scar and back. One of his hands finds a way under Carwood’s shirt. "Take this off."

“Is that a good idea?”

“No.” 

But the shirt is already slipping down his arms and towards the floor, caught at the last second only to end up on the back of a chair. Ron's mouth moves to Carwood's throat, to the dip between his collarbones where his pulse beats so wildly, so loudly that he's sure Ron can inhale the sound, and then it's on Carwood's bare chest, drawing lines around his muscles. Smiling, Carwood buries his fingers in Ron’s hair and leans back against the door. 

“You’re a terrible influence.” He says. When he pulls on Ron’s curls, Ron moans. "Quiet."

"I know." Ron mutters and bites him above his left nipple, marks him with all the frustrated force of their love. It hurts just right, but Carwood hisses anyway, and Ron apologises on his knees, with his lips on Carwood's belly and his hands on his ass.

"I want this off too." He says, tugging at Carwood's trousers. "I want to see you."

Carwood leaves a hand in Ron's hair, stroking Ron's forehead while he opens his belt and zipper with the other. With the curtains drawn, he can't make out more than mere silhouettes. "It's too dark."

Ron chuckles. "Carwood, there's more than one way to see."

The rest of Carwood's clothes don't make it to the chair, but it's difficult to care about creases and dirt when Ron is leaving a trail of kisses on the inside of his thigh. 

"I love your legs." Ron confesses, stroking Carwood's calves. “I’m not surprised that you won that competition.”

"You're awfully interested in my physical fitness." Carwood replies, unable to keep his voice steady when Ron takes the head of his cock in his mouth. "Why is that, hm?"

Ron leaves the question hanging in the air for a long time, focusing on Carwood's pleasure instead. He sucks languidly, content to be right where he is, and he holds Carwood by the hips until Carwood starts fighting that grip in his desperation to thrust forward. It's only then that he stands up and kisses the reply into Carwood's lips. "Because I'm proud of you."

Carwood finds his cheeks warming up from something other than arousal. "Proud?"

"Always." Ron tells him firmly. It's too honest, too close to a declaration they aren't ready for, which is probably the reason why he chases its echo away with a different answer. "It's also true that your strength turns me on."

Now that's more like it. It feels good to hear it. There's such a peace, a relief in the certainty that he's desirable, even after Bastogne, the scars and the pneumonia, even when he feels worn-out and unattractive. 

"I know that you could overpower me if you wanted, but you don't." Ron continues, backing towards the bed and pulling Carwood along. He takes his shirt off, then climbs on the mattress and guides Carwood until he straddles Ron's hips.

“Sometimes I think I should.” Carwood whispers. The old, burning shame he has known since he was a teenager roils in his stomach. They’ve discussed it before, but they’re helpless in the face of this guilt. It comes and goes. What’s there to do about it? How could he ever accept that he lusts for another man?

“Come here.” Ron asks him softly and draws him down into a long kiss that banishes those feelings for now. He runs his palms up along Carwood’s thighs to the small of his back, then lower. "I want to have you like this."

Carwood's breath hitches. He has never done it in this position before, but he can try. He takes the cream that Ron fishes out of his pocket. “Okay.”

It's strange to be completely naked while Ron still has his trousers and boots on, but this is already dangerous, he can't ask Ron to take off all his clothes too. What if someone knocks on the door and they need to be presentable within a minute? No, it's better like this. Carwood opens Ron's pants and pulls out his cock, taking only a moment to measure its hot, heavy weight before he holds it steady and lowers himself down. 

"Yes." Ron groans quietly. He runs his hands up and down Carwood's arms and naked torso. "Show me, Carwood."

It's a pleasant ache deep inside when he starts moving, up and down and then in a grinding motion when Ron asks him to do it that way. He isn't sure how to do it right, but he knows Ron's breathing, the way it leaves him in low grunts when something feels good. He wonders how loud Ron would be if they didn't have to hide. Would he talk a lot? Would he stop clenching his jaw to keep the noises inside?

Carwood tilts his head back and grabs the headboard for leverage, grateful that the bed is sturdy enough not to creak. The faster he goes, the deeper the burn of exertion spreads in his thighs, and it feels amazing, the sweat rolling down his temples and the heat swallowing his self-consciousness. Ron's pants rub against his legs as a reminder of how exposed he is, and Ron's palm on his chest just further emphasizes it. They move together now, Ron thrusting up when he presses down, and Ron's right hand wraps around his cock, where it slaps against his stomach. The familiar tingling sensation pools in Carwood's stomach, washes against his spine in waves. When Ron pushes up even harder and hits him just right, he whimpers and stops, struggling not to moan out loud. He closes his eyes and squeezes Ron's left wrist.

"Deep breath." Ron's voice is almost quiet enough to be swallowed by the draft, but his right hand doesn't stop moving and the soft, damp sounds feel loud in the empty room. Carwood shudders. "Are you cold?"

"No, just…" He bites his lip and grinds down into that sweet pressure again. God, it's so hard to keep the pleasure inside. "Ah, Ron."

"Shh." Ron's exhale trembles. "I'm right there with you, just breathe."

Carwood leaves his eyes closed when he starts moving again. He chases his satisfaction blindly, unaware of anything but Ron's body and the moans he traps in his own chest before they could reach his lips. He forgets to pay attention to his technique and to the damp mess he makes of Ron's hand and stomach and chest, he just bounces up and down, up and down until Ron grabs him around the waist and pushes them both over the peak.

They lie panting side by side for long minutes. It's not only from the physical exertion, but from holding it in too, all that overwhelming joy. Ron presses his sweaty forehead to Carwood's temple, then kisses his shoulder and leaves his lips there, blowing puffs of air over Carwood's skin. There's a dull thud outside in the hall, then a curse and someone's inebriated laughter. A door opens and another soldier stomps out of his room, pissed-off that his sleep was disturbed. They fight, then disappear, carrying on with their perfectly average nights. No one knows that in this dark, silent room, Carwood slides his fingers between his love's and tries to reimagine his future. 

"I wish you could stay." He turns his head to nuzzle Ron's hair. "Wake up by my side tomorrow."

Ron curls into Carwood's side and sighs. "You'll see me at the company CP first thing in the morning."

"It's not the same."

"I know." Ron kisses into his neck. It's softer than the grip of his hand on Carwood's, but no less certain, and Carwood loves it. He wishes he was brave enough to tell Ron that. "I'll get you some coffee for breakfast."

"I'd rather have a cup of tea instead."

"All right." Ron concedes, amused, and pulls away. His boots thunk on the carpet, then up his zipper goes, his belt clinks, his shirt rustles. 

Carwood stares into the darkness, trying to make out his expression. "Good night, Ron."

Ron kisses him goodbye, strokes his arm, then he's gone as if he has never even been there at all. The door opens and clicks shut behind him with a brief rush of air. 

Carwood falls asleep breathing his scent on the sheets.

_~End~_


End file.
